Sunday, March 24, 2013

The Magic Touch

A while ago I performed a mold inspection at the home of what I suppose you could call a D-list celebrity, who's job title includes the word "magic". Guess what the person does for a living, I'll even be generous and give you two chances: 
Unfortunately you'd be incorrect guessing Channing Tatum back during his Chippendale days :-/
That's more like it, a magician!
I am rarely given an apartment resident's name prior to an inspection, but for whatever reason I was provided with a name on this particular occasion. I had thought nothing of it given that the name is rather common, although it became quite evident upon arrival that I was indeed inside the home of the famous-ish magician himself. He was not present at the time of inspection, but his foreign model baby momma who looked younger than me was. 
The classiest part of the apartment was a large epic oil painting of the magician hanging upside down from some telephone wires with New York's skyscrapers far below in the distance. The painting pictured him calmly struggling inside of a buckled straightjacket while four scary devils creeped along the wires towards him. It was fabulous. If only I had asked for the artist's name so that I could commission a similarly epic Mold Girl painting. I have the perfect spot to hang it! *le sigh* If only.
I had wanted to image search "epic devil oil paintings" for this picture, but I was afraid of all the creepy things I'd find. So here's what I came up with after googling "magician art": The Magician by Alexandre Evariste Fragonard. #Culture
And now I will wrap up this post with a song that I was introduced to in 1999 by the soundtrack to Sabrina the Teenage Witch. Enjoy.

Photo credits: Magic Mike, Fun Factory Parties

With Desperation Comes Innovation

The price of real estate in New York is horrifyingly expensive. I have a minor meltdown every time I check my bank statements and realize the percentage of my income spent on rent. At least once a month I threaten to leave NYC, until I remember that the rest of America is way lamer (please feel free to be offended). Although still I sometimes claim with pride, Screw it! I want to be one of those 25 year olds still living with their parents.
Damn, beaten to the punch
So I don't want to start anything here (or do I? Vive la révolution?), but I can theoretically imagine that my following insight will remind readers of the realities of how the uber wealthy live, and has the potential to contribute to a social uprising or two. Ugh, sometimes being so influential is exhausting! 
I've mentioned in previous posts that I frequently visit the homes of the One Percent, or at least the Five Percent. In a city where a single square foot of space is a precious commodity, these apartments are always gloriously spacious and airy, and so big that it's easy to get lost (the architecture of these old Upper East Side and Upper West Side apartments is enchantingly bizarre - lots of long, twisting labyrinthine hallways). 
Okay, I get it, you're loaded. Good for you, you have an incredible apartment. Although here is the part that really gets me - many of these apartments are just one of many properties owned by the resident and are only used a couple of weeks of the year. I was in a place that recently sold for 18.5 MILLION dollars. The super said that the previous owners only spent about a week or two there a year. That statement is enough to send me on a murder-suicide rampage (hello ever watchful authorities, that was a joke). But anyway, a stroke of brilliance hit me, do any of these people need house sitters for the, you know, fifty weeks of the year they're off living somewhere else?? I was raised by a certified neat freak and have had the perfectionistic ways of home maintenance drilled into me. Plus, I know how to handle any sort of unexpected leak situation! If that doesn't qualify me to be the next House Sitter of the Year, I don't know what would. Mold Girl is now accepting any and all house sitting inquiries :)
Upper East Side - Playground of the rich and powerful. Will they accept me as the next Dan Humphrey??
To paraphrase the Cheshire Cat, it doesn't really matter which way I go, they're all mad here. Mad rich at least. 

Photo credits: Brooklynmadestore's Etsy shop, Gossip Girl, someecards, Alice in Wonderland,

Hey You Look Familiar... Part Deux

This is a continuation of a previous post, if you have not read the original Hey You Look Familiar, now is a perfect time!

Okay, done? Great!

As previously mentioned, I find it more than a bit disconcerting as to how often I'm told that I remind random strangers of someone they know. This goes for both regular people and celebrities. Just wondering, does this happen frequently to anyone else? I mean I know I'm a total babe, but I wouldn't say that I've achieved a hawtness level equivalent to a combination of eleven (and counting) gorgeous celebrities...yet. :P Kidding, geesh! I'm not that conceited. I generally consider my looks as equivalent to not requiring a paper bag as a "face accessory". And I've never come across someone in which I think to myself, "Damn, I just found my sister from another mister!", especially when it comes to celebrities. But if we've learned anything from Who Wants to Be a Millionaire, it's that you should always trust public opinion. So here's a thought - what's the money like for celebrity impersonators? High end faux trust fund baby escorts? Paper bag face accessory models?

Anywho, here's part deux of my celebrity doppelganger list:
My BAMF Doppelganger:  
Hilary Swank - I kickbox and zumba, pretty much same thing as Million Dollar Baby, no?
My "Can you repeat the name?", "I'm sorry, what was that?", and "Okay, one more time" Doppelganger: 
Ally Sheedy aka the weird chick in The Breakfast Club
My We-have-the-Same-Haircut Doppelganger:
Alexa Chung - yeah girl, I feel you, my hair's always a hot mess too
 My Ginger Doppelganger:
Amy Adams
Caroline, aka Beth Behrs, from Two Broke Girls

I'd say that at least six people have told me that I behave *exactly* like Caroline from Two Broke Girls, minus the whole I-used-to-be-a-trust-fund-baby thing (I wish!). Since hearing these comments, it was my duty to myself as well as my plethora of doppelgangers to give the show a whirl. I watched a handful of episodes from season one, and while I do think the show has its moment, it unfortunately seems a bit dated to me - Two Broke Girls is like a mix of old school slapstick comedy and a severely nineties sitcom (not to mention it's actually called 2 Broke Girls, not Two Broke Girls, but I refuse to use a number as a title). The show is clever, but also relies on a lot of tired clichés and stereotypes. Although to be fair, I'd say my own humor probably could sometimes be described as recycled and tired (hopefully minus the whole racism thing, HELLO Han Lee!). So I guess my point is, I do see some similarities between myself and Caroline, and that I think to enjoy Two Broke Girls, you need to pretend that you're watching a theater piece written by some old college friend who liked Family Guy a little bit too much and just appreciate the effort.
I will admit that Caroline and I both have similar bubbly and enthusiastic personalities and share an I-don't-have-a-sense-of-dignity approach to life. Additionally, I think that Caroline is the first girl I'd call if I needed a rat situation handled!

Saturday, March 23, 2013

PSA: Death to the Fist Bump

Being in the construction/real estate/environmental biz, I work along side a number of field technicians, a position held most commonly by men. It's been an interesting experience adjusting to Bro Culture, although I probably force them to adjust to me more than anything - let's just say there are a lot of conversations focused on the importance of crafternoons, brunch, and color blocking. Anyway, I have two male coworkers that are near and dear to my heart, although I've come to realize that they both have a problem. A fist bump problem. The first has been referenced on several occasions and virtually goes by Porkchop. The other has also helped me with several projects and will therefore be known as Pork Chop II.
Porkchop I
Pork Chop II
I'd say approximately six to eight times a day, both Porkchop I and Pork Chop II will come over to my desk and silently stand there with an expectant fist hanging in the air waiting for me to complete the pound and subsequent pound explosion. Sometimes Pork Chop II will mix it up and throw in an, "MG! What's Gucci?!". I've told them that the pounds have got to stop. I need put my foot (my fist?) down - they're totally devaluing the power of the pound. Alas, my complaints have gone unheeded. The battle of the bump reached a pinnacle last week when I announced in an exasperated, tragically carrying tone that, if they like pounding so much, they should just pound each other. #OhGodNotAnotherMeetingWithHR  

And side note, because I love learning and sharing knowledge, check out what I found! A piece of hard-hitting journalism from Time Magazine: A Brief History of the Fist Bump. Can't wait to show Porkchop I and Pork Chop II this post Monday morning :)

Photo credits: Doug, 

Friday, March 15, 2013

Hot Dog Friday

Today a colleague of mine decided that it would be "Hot Dog Friday". To my own demise, I didn't read her email sent earlier this week regarding the no-occasion occasion. I had assumed Hot Dog Friday wouldn't be a big deal. I thought we'd have just straight up hot dogs for lunch, not a full blown party or anything. Wrong-o. People went all out with bringing in dishes. We had basically every kind of hot dog/burger combo imaginable - regular hot dogs, veggie dogs, spicy chicken sausages, burgers, veggie burgers, turkey burgers, soylent green burgers (kidding!). Burgers and dogs galore. And this is an office of roughly 15 people. Don't ask me how, but all meat and meat substitutes were consumed by the end of the day. When it comes to eating, we go hard.

Additionally, the sister of my Hot-Dog-Friday-inventor coworker is a professional baker (check her out!!  Fun Cakes & More). She's been temping at my company the past few weeks (unfortunately the cake biz gets slow this time of year). Anyway, so she brought in a SHITTON of baked goods for this shindig. And her stuff is no joke - you just can't not eat it. I've sampled her wares on several occasions and I can tell you that it's way too good to resist. 

As I type this, I feel pretty disgusting. I won't even tell you how much sugar I consumed today because I'm not in the mood for your virtual judgmental stare. But ugh, now I really need to go to a GOOP-inspired, anorexic rich bitch  "wellness retreat" or something. But hey, calories don't count on a holiday, amirite?! Happy Hot Dog Friday y'all!!
Tres leches cupcakes - gurlfren' is KNOWN for these babies
Passion fruit, raspberry, and dulce de leche cupcakes
Cake pops! And funky glasses that I was told were purchased specifically with yours truly in mind :)
Best part? Now my skull can do an outfit change!
Those old pink shutter glasses were *so* Kanye circa 2009
Photo credits:, Crif Dogs 

Friday, March 1, 2013

Werk it Out - Boogie Down Bronx Edition

I'm just gonna throw it out there. The Bronx is crazy. Even crazier than Queens. And let me tell you, Queens is pretty crazy (what genius thought it'd be a good idea to name streets "64th Road", "64th Street", and "64th Drive", all of which are located in completely different areas? I know Queens is a big borough, but come on, we can be more creative than that). Despite the confusing nature of Queens, the Bronx is still weirder. It's so different than all the other boroughs. NYC is a typical urban city - it's like, you know, flat. The Bronx on the other hand is a mountain. Actually scratch that, it's the Infinite Staircase described by Justin Norton in my favorite book, The Phantom Tollbooth
“Whether or not you find your own way, you're bound to find some way. If you happen to find my way, please return it, as it was lost years ago. I imagine by now it's quite rusty.”
Everywhere you go there are staircases and staircases, and then more staircases. If you weren't familiar with the area and looked at a map, you'd think, "Oh! It should be easy to drive from Point A to Point B, all you have to do is take this short little road!" But no, this "short little road" is, you guessed it, a staircase. Below you are looking at a legitimate portion of West 238th Street: 
This shot had to be taken very quickly - I was starting to get strange looks for photographing a nondescript cement staircase...
Note the grading and height of the staircase. There are not one, not two, not three, but FOUR separate stair sections. I don't know how the locals do that every day, especially those who are a little up-there in years. I feel like some sort of sneaker commercial or amateur free running video must have been shot here. Or else needs to be shot here. I'm imagining something along the lines of this...
Or this...
So, who's inspired? Any DIY dare devils out there? I'll volunteer to be your camera(wo)man!

Photo credits: The Phantom Tollbooth

No Sex and the City

I have a coworker. We will call him Silent Bob. Hey Bob!
Why is my coworker Silent Bob? Well, in the roughly 18 months that he has been employed with my company, below is a complete list of everything we know about Silent Bob:
  • He served in the military
  • He is a snappy dresser - he has the best sweater collection of any heterosexual man I know
  • He has a girlfriend, and the pair went to the Caribbean that one time
  • He LOVES the New York Knicks - the Knicks homepage is the only non-work related website we've ever seen him waste company time on. Also, one time he shot me a death stare when I mentioned a desire to catch a Brooklyn Nets game...
  • We used to be desk buddies although my coordinates on the office map have since changed. I was informed that he does not miss me. 
That's it. Boy does not talk.

...At least until recently. I have no idea how, but I have personally broken Silent Bob. In the past month, I've had at least four (albeit short) conversations with Silent Bob, some of which he even started! At my own expense, our new budding relationship has taught me another personal fact about my quiet comrade - SB has quite the sarcastic sense of humor.

My office employs a number of rather fashionable ladies. I care about and enjoy fashion, although for me, practicality, comfort, and my own personal bizarre tastes are usually prioritized over style. I evoke descriptions akin to "hot mess shit show" rather than "put together" or "au courant". I am a walk-aholic and therefore sneakers play an important part in my life. Silent Bob had shamed me for wearing holes into my everyday pair of sneaks. I consulted a couple of coworkers during a recent quest to find a new pair. To our surprise, Silent Bob joined the conversation on his own accord. I had always thought Asics  were now and forever classically cool. Apparently not - "they were cool... like three years ago". *Okay, now I can never wear a certain pair of shoes to the office ever again!* While showing off various potential options to my colleagues, SB makes a statement regarding a pair of shoes, "Yeah, you can't work those". Okay, well, umm, thank you for the honesty? (Side note! I did end up getting new sneakers! Two pairs to be precise - and Silent Bob was appalled at how they became "dirtier in two weeks than the pair he's had for five years". 
MG's sneaker collection - stains and dirt and all! Excuse me SB, sorry I don't oxiclean my laces and obsessively Mr. Clean Magic Erase the soles like you.
I will admit that I do have a small obsession with one aspect of fashion - lingerie. All of my female friends are well aware than I could moonlight as a sales rep for one of my favorite companies, True & Co. Periodically I order items from the website. As every New Yorker in a non-doorman building knows, you must have all packages delivered to your office if you ever want to actually, you know, receive them. Today I accepted such a package from True & Co and was immediately asked about its contents by Silent Bob. After informing him that it probably wouldn't interest his fashion senses, he quickly and correctly guessed the purchase. All my ladiez and I quickly retreated to a corner of the office to quietly ogle the lacy prettiness. At one point Silent Bob ambles on over and asks, "Come on MG, who you got to impress?"
My response: "...ummmm, me?"
SB's face
My second response: "...ummmm, I'm optimistic?"
SB again
My third response: "Okay, fine! Nobody!"
SB: "Exactly."

Ouch, Silent Bob. Well I guess that's one way to keep me grounded.

Despite the fact that there's nobody except for yours truly to appreciate any of my new acquisitions, I guess I can seek the infinite wisdom of Carrie Bradshaw when NYC and a lackluster social life gets a girl down:
Designer shoes
Carrie may favor Manolo Blahniks, but I recently picked myself up a pair of Prabal Gurungs from Barney's. Okay, fine. Just kidding, they're from Target. You happy, Silent Bob?? Damn, why you always gotta bring me down like that?!
Eat your heart out SB
Photo credits: Clerks, Sex and the City, Tyra